(red light) green light
by mako-lies
Summary: Kevin helps Sam unwind, but the belt is really psyching him out. Set early season 9.


_This work contains: whipping, dubious consent, and poorly communicated kink, potentially the consent issues associated with angelic possession._

* * *

This isn't so bad, Kevin thinks. Stupidly. He tests the give of Sam's thick leather belt with his thumb, and he bites his lip till skin breaks. "You good?" he asks, too-low as he tries for a sexy, sinister rasp.

"God, yes." Sam's already breathing fast, trembling as much as the bonds will let him.

Metal cuffs padded with strips of cloth keep his hands trapped above his head. Sam's shoulder-blades jut out like wings, making his back an expansive map of valleys and mountains of muscle and hard ridges of scars. Kevin reaches out to trace, but instead grips the butter-soft leather with two hands. "All right." He clears his throat to banish the waver. "Spread your legs, Sam. Keep them spread for me, okay?"

* * *

In retrospect, Kevin shouldn't have been surprised. Sam's favorite word during sex, apart from _good_, is **harder**. Which, of course, had been flattering at first. He had to be doing something right if Sam wanted more of it.

But then a bloom of bruises appeared on Sam's hips, and every time Kevin tried to avoid them with guilt lurching purple and black in his gut, Sam pulled Kevin's hands _back_ to the bruises.

Then, there were the questions:

_What did you and Channing try? What do you like? What porn is your favorite? _

Kevin felt his face heat. The questions were more embarrassing than Sam's dick up his ass. More embarrassing than Sam's patient explanation that "gay" sex didn't begin and end with anal: that's just what the pornos _wanted _you to think_. _Like some kind of sex-spiracy.

* * *

Legs spread wide, Sam waits. His muscles strain against the cuffs; if Sam wants, he can undo the bindings before Kevin can do a damn thing. But he won't.

_I want you to hurt me_.

Kevin takes a fluttery breath. The curve of Sam's ass, the tight coil of his shoulders, the sweat-slick strands of his hair clinging to his nape-those, those have Kevin's cock thickening in his jeans.

**CRACK**

A soft pink line appears over Sam's ass, despite Kevin's weakness. Sam moans his more-fingers-please-Kevin moan, his hips jerking back, closer to Kevin and the worn belt in Kevin's hand. Kevin shuts his eyes; his hands tremble. "Kevin," Sam gasps, "God, that's good. _You're_ good."

Kevin's stomach rolls rolls rolls, but he opens his eyes and brings Sam's belt down again. Harder. This time, Sam shouts-a short, pushed-out sound that freezes Kevin, heart thundering away in his icy throat.

_Red, red_ on his lips and tongue, but he can't say it because-

"Thank you," Sam's voice is thick with it, thick like his cock hanging heavily red between his spread thighs. "Kevin, come on. Harder. Plea-"

Kevin hits him before he finishes. The skin bounces under the force, an angry welt beginning to form beneath Kevin's gaze. Loud and pained, Sam's cry reminds Kevin of cowering behind Sam as the chompers came at them-reminds Kevin of clinging hard to Sam's strength. Should he really be doing this when Sam hasn't gained back all the weight he lost during the Trials? The Trials Sam abandoned?

* * *

"Kevin," Sam's voice had been a rough whisper as his eyes focused on Kevin's shoelaces. "I'm sorry."

Kevin could still feel Crowley's fingers pressed into his throat, the burst of anxiety-_is he still in my head?_-but Kevin swallowed past the forceful rise of bile, swallowed past the burnt afterimage of his mom's busted phone. "I'm glad you're not dead."

Stick to what's true. Kevin hadn't wanted Sam to die.

But the Gates were still open.

* * *

Kevin gives Sam two more. Hard and fast, a crisscross of welts blooming over Sam's ass and tops of his thighs, and Sam spreads wider for it, breathing harsh and wet. Little tiny gasps of pain that remind Kevin of the way his mom sounded emerging from the icy water of possession.

He catches the belt before it can fall through his fingers.

* * *

"Don't you get hurt enough hunting?" asked Kevin, watching the muscle in Sam's cheek flex.

"It's not-" Sam's nostrils flared, but his voice was mild. Reasonable. That fake-fed voice he had perfected before Kevin even left elementary school. "It's different. Ever since the Trials, I've felt out of control. Unsettled. This helps."

Kevin smiled uneasily with his teeth as the flush rose in Sam's cheeks. "I'll think about it," said Kevin.

_"No pressure, Kevin."_

* * *

The thickness in Kevin's throat has long since replaced that of his cock. He murmurs over the sawing of Sam's breathing, "Just five more, okay?" Kevin can manage five. He summons a ghost of his mom's authority to his voice. "Count them for me."

Between his legs, Sam's dick wets the sheets. This is the most turned on Sam's ever seemed-even counting the time with the skirt. The next blow lands hard on already fiery skin. "One," Sam keens.

The mark purples dark against the angry flush of blood. Kevin swallows again and again, wants to shut his eyes but can't afford to miss. "Two." A groan this time; Sam likes this, pushes back for the unforgiving bite of worn leather.

Or-or maybe... Kevin curls his nails into the belt. Is Kevin working the failed-Hell-Trial penance out on Sam's skin?

* * *

Has Sam lied to him? Maybe _out of control_ is actually a euphemism for **guilty**. Red, yellow, red gurgles like puke in his throat as he gives. Three, four-harder, so Sam can't feel the hesitance.

_The disgust._

* * *

Sam pants out, "Four. God, Kevin. Good. Good. Harder." He pulls against his bonds, welted skin flexing and shifting. "You good?"

"Green," Kevin breathes out. "I'm green. Just one more, Sam. We can do one more." But Kevin's voice is quivering like Sam is.

So the next hit is harder. It cracks over the lines left by Kevin's hands, making Sam pull harder at the cuffs, and the headboard whines with the force. Sam's cock drools more, and maybe if Kevin keeps hitting him Sam will come just like this. Kevin throws aside the belt. "You're okay, Sam," he whispers, doesn't even know if Sam hears him, but it isn't for Sam, is it?

With gentle trembling hands, Kevin presses against the heat of Sam's ass, Kevin's fingertips tracing over raised flesh. Sam pushes back into the touch, that sexy drawn-out groan. "Please, I need-come on, Kevin."

Kevin almost reaches for Sam's dick. It's still stupidly slick and hard; no sense of self-preservation. Is this trust? Or something else? Kevin's face is hot and his stupid fucking hands won't stop trembling against Sam's burning skin. He frees Sam from the cuffs, then Kevin tests Sam's wrists for tears. Red lines, but still softer than the ones Kevin left with the belt. "Go ahead."

When Sam tries to roll onto his back, Kevin stops him with a hand between his shoulder-blades. Sam takes the hint-stays on hand and knees as he strips his dick. He comes quickly, after just a handful of strokes. Then he tips forward into his mess.

Finally, Kevin closes his eyes. "Stay there," he whispers. "I need-" He flees to the adjacent bathroom.

Kevin shuts the door behind him, shivering at the cold now that Sam's heat isn't emanating outward. He fumbles for a washcloth. Wets it with warm water. Ice-Sam'll need ice. Kevin gulps for air, desperate for it as when Crowley choked it out of him. He has the presence of mind to force an approximation of a sex cry. Kevin doesn't bother reaching for his limp cock.

Fake it till you make it.

* * *

Kevin returns with the ice to gently kiss Sam as he wipes Sam down. "Good?" asks Sam thickly, sounding drunk. "You good?"

"Yeah. Got you some ice, too," Kevin murmurs against Sam's mouth. In the low-light, Sam's eyes nearly look blue as he half-smiles up at Kevin.

After Kevin ices the swelling, he curls himself against Sam's chest. He presses the curve of his ear to Sam's skin to hear his heartbeat slowly even out. "Thank you," Sam whispers into Kevin's hair, voice soft and wet, like Kevin's done something amazing for him.

Maybe Kevin has. Who is Kevin to judge? He tightens himself into a ball. "Sleep, Kevin" says Sam, and Kevin does.


End file.
